The old and eternal question: What comes first? The egg or the hen? Forget about the rooster for a moment. He is busy announcing dawn.
Moral dilemma: You stand at the fish counter. Several fine specimens of the endangered on the slab. Do you buy because they are caught, dead and gutted already or do you have a cheese fondue tonight instead?
The press: The much maligned. What comes first: Supply or demand? People squeal over privacy, paparazzi. Well, Sweethearts, the bad news is that it’s you, the customer, who buys those papers. Who reads that which you will later complain about. That which feeds the inner monster craving a little more sensationalism, that which will satisfy you because your own lives are unblemished. Pull the other one. I freely admit that I do buy fish that’s already dead. I don’t read drivel. Even if it fills half the paper I pay good money for. What are fingers for if not to turn those pages which are of no consequences to anyone.
And, since you are asking, I don’t like Tom Cruise.
How is this for a nice little moral dilemma: You are asked to vote in a contest. One of the contestants is a friend of yours. Do you give your friend the thumbs up or vote for the best, in your opinion, entry? Trust me. This is not easy. At all. Am thrown for six. Who better to ask than the Angel. The Angel, not easily unsettled, contemplated my question for two minutes and came down on the side of voting for the friend, regardless. Mmm. Interesting. I am not so sure. Not least because it questions the merits of a contest. Not exactly rigged but not far from it either.
Reminds me of the Angel coming home from school with one of his many productions (at age, I don’t know, seven or eight). It was a painting. I got the vibe he wasn’t very pleased with his effort though I thought it quite good and said so. Oh dear. Enter the artistic temperament. What did he say, with some disdain: “You would say that, Mama, wouldn’t you? After all, you are my mother.” If ever there was a damning verdict. Thus my career as a critic of the arts came, temporarily, to an abrupt end. However, oh the satisfaction, only a week later he came home with some story he had written, showed it to me and I said to him, sweet revenge: “I may be your mother but this isn’t very good.” Dear dog in heaven. Enter artistic temperament again. There were tears. Well, you can’t have it both ways. Since then he trusts his mother’s judgement, either way, even if he doesn’t always agree with it.
Let me ask you a question. Answer it honestly rather than ingratiating yourself with me: Do you, man or woman, close the lid on the loo/toilet or not? After whatever you have done.
No Karma involved, no one is sitting in judgment, I’d just like to know.
I work in research; nay, I do research. An occupation entirely reliant on those researched to be honest. No wonder I am on the brink.
On my own blog, little lamb that I am, I don’t go for subjects that may ignite political, religious or any other bees in bonnets. I will occasionally succumb to voicing views in other bloggers’ comment boxes – on the very subjects I try to avoid in public.Though have currently put myself in quarantine.
HOWEVER (I hate it when I use the word ‘however’. It’s rarely a bearer of good news.) HOWEVER, this minute I will make an exception to my rule: Just read about a woman (well known author) whose son donated one of his kidneys to her. Who wants to die? Yet, unless my son wrestled me to the ground, I would NOT allow him to mutilate himself for me. Put his own life at risk. Naturally, one could now discuss whether that’s selfish of me. I believe life goes FORWARD and, as hard as it is, we need to leave our parents behind.